The wagons rolled forward, but unease tugged at Lily. She urged Merry closer to George.
“Captain, this doesn’t feel right. That road he’s leading us to? It’s too remote. Herbs bound for the palace shouldn’t be hidden in the middle of nowhere.”
George nodded slightly in agreement. “A fair question. And another… Why inform us now, on the road? The guild writes contracts days ahead. If the order changed, it should have been in the parchment before we left.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
George jerked his reins, signaling everyone to stop. “Hold.”
The wagons creaked to a stop. Men shifted uneasily, hands drifting toward weapons.
He looked straight at the apprentice. “One more time. Why was this not in the contract? Why are we riding off the main route into the woods when the palace walls are an hour ahead?”
The apprentice did not flinch. “Because the alchemist cannot trust parchment alone. There are spies even within Solmyra. To send a written notice would have been a greater risk. That is why I came in person.”
George shifted in the saddle. “Then you’ve chosen poorly. Because if the alchemist truly feared spies, he’d send word through the Guildmaster himself, not plant a boy in a ditch with a royal seal.”
A pause.
“So you refuse?” the apprentice asked.
“Not without answers,” George replied. “And I suspect you have more friends than the six behind you.”
The apprentice’s lips curled into a cocky smile, the kind that said he knew he’d already won. His fingers flexed at his side, and strange markings flickered at his wrist. “Very well. It’s too late now. You’ve walked right into it.”
Figures came from the trees. Hooded men, blades glinting, bows half-drawn. Betrayal gleamed in the guards’ eyes as they turned their spears inward. The apprentice shed his cloak as glyphs lit at his wrist.
George immediately commanded. “Form ranks!”
The night exploded. Steel rang, horses screamed, and the hiss of magic split the night.
George shouted orders as his sword crashed to defend himself. “Shields up! Guard the wagons!”
Lily leapt from Merry as a traitor rushed the rear cart. Her blade dropped him before he reached the wheel. Another lunged. She twisted aside, but her foot caught a stone. A blade grazed her arm, burning through cloth.
“They’re trained,” she snapped, cutting another down. “Not just bandits.”
“And I’ll have their heads for it.” George bellowed, parrying a spear with brutal efficiency. “Hold the line, Holloway! Lose those herbs and I’ll have to listen to the alchemist squawk for a month!”
Fire scorched the ground, forcing the squad to retreat. From the trees, the cloaked apprentice advanced slowly, one hand lifted, glowing marks on his palm. Lily’s eyes were on him. She saw him not as a reckless fighter. Not a careless thief. Someone skilled, just as she suspected.
The first wagon rocked as the attackers slammed into it. Lily braced herself against the wheel, her sword flashing as she kept them from climbing aboard. Her muscles burned, but she did not falter.
“Keep them off the crates!” George roared.
But then, a sudden light split the dark forest. Lily turned just in time to see the second wagon surrounded by shimmering runes, glowing too brightly in her vision.
“No!” Lily shouted.
The apprentice raised both hands, and with a flash of blinding light, the wagon was gone. Simply gone. Vanished as though it had never been there.
“Damn him!” George slashed at empty air, then swore as the fight dragged him sideways.
Lily bolted forward, sword raised, but the apprentice only watched her come. His gaze glinted with cold satisfaction as if daring her to come closer. Then, with a twist of his wrist, his body blurred in a haze of light and then he vanished too.
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“Coward!” Lily hurled the word into the empty space where he had stood, lungs heaving.
But the fight was not finished. The remaining fake guards pressed in harder, buying their master time. Their blades were sharp, their movements drilled, not sloppy bandits but killers trained to hold the line.
One stabbed one of George’s men clean through the ribs, dropping him to the ground. Another buried a dagger into a hunter’s throat. By the time Lily and George had cut the last of them down, three lay dead on the dirt, blood pooling dark under their broken bodies.
The silence after the battle was heavier than the fight itself. Horses pawed nervously at the ground, the first wagon still intact but smeared with blood.
George stood over the fallen, his sword still dripping. He muttered a curse under his breath, then turned to the survivors. “We lost one wagon. We lost three men. That bastard stole what was meant for the castle, and if we don’t recover it, the alchemist will flay us alive.” He jabbed his blade toward the road. “You, Melvin, and Dain, take charge of this wagon straight to the palace. No stops. No delays. Deliver it into the alchemist’s own hands. If anyone tries to stop you, cut them down.”
Though grim and pale, the two men managed to command some of George’s men to help haul the surviving wagon into motion.
George turned to Lily, wiping the stain from his brow. “We’re not finished, lass. That mage thought he could vanish into the wilds. He’s wrong. We’ll hunt him down. We’ll take back what’s ours or die with blades in our hands trying.”
Lily sheathed her sword with a sharp motion. “Good. Because I’ll see that smug look gone from his face myself.”
The fight was over for now, but its weight still. Smoke drifted across the bloodstained road. Three covered bodies marked the price of survival, while the fake guards, bloodied but unbowed, knelt in cuffs at George’s feet. He raised his sword. “Who sent you? Speak, and I might see you rot in a dungeon instead of a grave.”
The men stayed silent. One spat blood at his boots.
George’s nostrils flared. He seized the spitter by the collar and smashed a fist into his face, blood spraying as teeth clacked together. “Answer me!” he shoved him into the dirt. “You killed my men. You stole from the crown. Silence won’t save you.”
Still, the others glared back, lips sealed.
George paced, fists clenched. “Where did you take the wagon? Who do you serve?!”
Nothing.
His boot slammed into a prisoner’s ribs, then another’s jaw. They endured like stone. “Damn you!” George snarled, dragging a hand through his hair before swigging from his flask, liquor sharp on the air. Tension carved deep lines across his face as he lowered the blade—
But Lily hissed from the shadows. “Bastards.” She stood behind him, arms folded, her dark stare fixed on the captured men. He hadn’t noticed her move from the shade of the wagon. While George’s fury burned loud, hers simmered, hotter and quieter, far more dangerous.
When George’s men leaned close to hold him back, Lily slipped around to the far side, out of their view. She paused, checking once to make sure all eyes were on George’s brutal display. Then she crouched in front of one of the bound captives, the youngest of them, sweat already beading on his head. Her hand shot out, seizing him, yanking him so close their foreheads nearly touched.
Lily’s pupils grew wide, covering the brown of her eyes, until they glowed deep red, shining like coals. The man stopped breathing for a moment. He saw nothing human in her eyes. He saw death.
The air around her seemed to thrum, low and creepy. Her voice made a guttural growl. “Tell me where he took the wagon.”
The man tried to resist, but his body betrayed him. His eyes widened, his skin turned clammy, and more sweat rolled down his neck. In her regard, he saw not a woman, not even a human, he saw the presence of a reaper, the cold grasp of something that wanted his soul.
Her grip got stronger, her growl grew lower, each word full of anger and threat. “Answer me or I’ll drag you to hell myself.”
His will was shattered. He broke like glass. “The mines!” he screamed, shaking violently, the cuffs cut his wrists. “The old mines east of here, there’s a circle there, a long-range portal! He took the wagon through it! That’s his hideout!”
The other fake guards jerked against their bonds, shouting at him, spitting curses.
“Shut your mouth, you idiot!”
“Don’t tell them anything, you coward!”
But it was too late. The words were already out, hanging between them like a sentence passed. He shrank in on himself, eyes darting, breath coming in short, panicked pulls. “Please… please, don’t kill me. Don’t drag me down there. I’ve told you everything, I swear, I swear!”
Lily’s eyes returned to normal, her face calm as if nothing had happened. She let him go, and he fell to the ground, shaking, broken, eyes still wide with fear.
“Good,” she brushed off her hands.
George stopped mid-step, staring. He hadn’t seen what passed between them, but he’d heard the confession and seen the man crumble. He looked from the man to Lily. “What did you do to him?”
Lily turned slowly, “The same as you did. Asked questions. He answered.”
But George saw the man’s fear as if he’d brushed against death itself, lips moving in soundless prayer. A frown creased George’s hard features, confusion on his face.
Lily cut the moment off. “We heard what we need to know. If we waste another breath here, the herbs will be gone for good.”
George drew a long, tense breath, then drank once more from his flask before snapping to his men. “Take these bastards to the capital. Straight to the castle guard. Tell them what happened. Stay alert.”
George’s men saluted, dragging the captives to their feet, though the one Lily had touched nearly collapsed with every step.
George turned back, his look still narrowed. He scrubbed a hand over his mouth. “You, Holloway. You’re coming with me. I’ll need your hunting skills to track the mage. No one else here can read a trail like you.”
Lily swung into Merry’s saddle without hesitation. “Then let’s move. My hands are itching to hunt him down.”
Together they rode east, toward the broken hills to the old mines.
George had fought wars and survived them, but one look at Lily unsettled him. He’d seen fear break hardened men, but never at the presence of a single woman.
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